Silver Moon Corps reconnaissance outpost.
Bido stepped into the outpost.
Suddenly, he remembered the day he had first come here.
Knowing nothing, entrusted with a box,
he had followed Miryeong’s back into this place.
The air was different now.
A faint light from above shone on the dust covering the floor.
It was a sensation rarely felt in the Silver Moon Corps’ main base.
Bido blinked once.
Strangely, his throat was dry.
Raen, who had followed him in, looked around and said,
“Wow… This place is interesting. Outside light gets in, too.”
Raen swayed his thick tail and turned his head toward Bido.
“Bido, have you been here before?”
Bido quietly nodded.
“Yeah. Briefly, before…”
Before he could finish,
Miryeong gathered the people ahead of them.
Her voice cut through the space.
“Move quickly.”
Miryeong swept her gaze once over the inside of the outpost.
Then she began issuing orders.
“Check the equipment. Sort the food. Anything that will spoil, take it out immediately. Set the water aside.”
Miryeong seemed unfamiliar.
She was more serious than he had ever seen her,
and that seriousness pushed everyone away.
Everyone began moving without a word.
Hurta stepped closer and said in a low voice,
“Miryeong. We still have some time—”
Miryeong cut him off at once.
“Time isn’t the only thing we have left.”
She continued coldly.
“Here, my word is the standard, Hurta.”
A brief silence passed.
Hurta hesitated for a moment,
then lowered his head and moved.
Aslo was tending to the weapons,
and Muryeong was confirming something with his team members in a low voice.
A single gesture, one nod, and the conversation ended.
Bido slowly realized it.
That battle truly was drawing near—
not as words, but through the movements of the outpost, settling against his skin.
Sienna said,
“Good. We’ll do it that way, then move out.”
Sienna pressed a fingertip to the simple diagram on the table and folded it once.
It did not look like she was folding paper, but folding a road.
Hearing that, Taejin nodded.
“Then I’ll head straight toward Kaldren.”
Kaldren.
The imperial border fortress north of Arku.
The place where the expeditionary force gathered and departed.
Most likely, it was where “movement” would arise first.
Sienna answered,
“Right. Given the circumstances, there’s a high chance the Empire has already set out.”
“Be especially careful of the vanguard.”
Taejin briefly raised a hand.
It was his answer.
Sienna drew her cloak around herself and headed outside with the intelligence team.
Until the moment the door closed,
her footsteps could barely be heard.
Bido stared blankly after her—
then felt someone’s hand take hold of his shoulder.
It was Kallen.
“Bido.”
Kallen spoke.
“Lady Yeonhwa and I will be staying with you and Raen.”
Yeonhwa, who stood beside him, gave a light bow.
It looked less like a courtesy than a confirmation of assignment.
Kallen continued.
“Lord Rangnan told us to remain here as much as possible and assist with your training.”
Bido clenched his fist as reality sank in.
What he could do now—
was only prepare for what lay ahead.
If this sword fell into the Empire’s hands,
everything until now would collapse.
And Bido knew that better than anyone.
Bido swallowed once.
The face of the military policeman in the warehouse came to mind.
The hesitation of that moment.
Bido put strength into his fingertips.
He must not hesitate.
The moment he did, someone else would be drenched in blood in his place.
Bido raised his head.
“…I understand.”
It was a short answer.
But this time, its brevity was not an escape.
Amid the low commotion of the outpost, preparations had already begun.
—
While they caught their breath at the outpost,
north of Arku—
at the Empire’s border fortress of Kaldren, the wheels were already turning.
The castle gates opened.
The heavy sound of iron grinding,
followed by the sound of cartwheels rolling over stone.
Azure oxen emerged in lines.
Huge oxen with blue bodies.
Each time they exhaled, white steam spread from their nostrils,
and their iron reins were pulled taut.
There were many carts.
They carried food, arrows, tents—all of it,
but compared to an ordinary expedition, they were light.
There were things abandoned for the sake of speed, and things left in their place.
The priests’ banners.
The knights’ crests.
And a solid anger bound together by the word “justification.”
“Priests and knights have been killed.”
Someone murmured, and soon several lips repeated the same sentence.
Anger needed a direction.
Once it had one, their steps grew faster.
At the head of the marching column, Adel walked in silence.
His armor was heavy,
but he was used to that weight.
Because he was used to it, it was all the more unpleasant.
He knew.
This march was not “support.”
They were not moving to answer the request of a single city,
but to retrieve a conclusion.
Adel raised his head.
The sky was clear, and the road was dry.
The drier the road, the louder the footsteps.
As if trying to lessen that sound,
the army commander ahead signaled with his hand.
“Maintain speed. Close the gaps.”
“Once the azure oxen catch their breath, pull them on immediately.”
The orders fell coldly.
The soldiers moved according to orders.
It was a command that still retained common sense.
That common sense made it pierce Adel all the more.
That man does not know.
Because he does not know, he moves only by “common sense.”
Adel did not stop.
The moment he stopped,
the things he knew felt as though they might spill out of his mouth.
Alongside the marching column, people by the roadside stepped aside.
Farmers, merchants, porters.
They bowed their heads toward the imperial army,
but not entirely out of respect.
Heads often lowered first from fear.
Each time the carts passed, children flinched, and old people swallowed their coughs.
The bulk of the azure oxen felt not like mere beasts, but like an “entry.”
Watching their reactions, Adel’s jaw stiffened.
Is this… support?
The word support should at least put the other party at ease.
But where the marching column passed, no ease remained.
All that was left was dust on the road, wheel tracks, and gazes with bated breath.
For a moment, the signal to rest was given.
Water was given to the azure oxen, and the cart axles were inspected.
The priests offered short prayers,
and the knights wiped down their weapons.
Adel did not drink water.
His throat was dry, but if he drank, he felt he would seem more human.
What he needed now was not a human breath, but a target.
The army commander approached.
His tone remained dry.
“Sir Paladin.”
Adel merely turned his head.
“The vanguard has already been sent ahead. From Kaldren to Arku, three days.”
“We will secure the road. The necessary supplies…”
As the man continued speaking, Adel’s gaze was far away.
Three days.
Adel knew all too well what that short span of time would mean to the Silver Moon Corps.
Time to respond.
Time to catch their breath.
Time to hide their breathing.
That time had to be taken from them, “they” had said.
Adel recalled that sentence and pressed his lips together.
Anger rose within him,
but he was not certain whom that anger was directed at.
“There will be no delay.”
Adel said.
The words sounded like an order.
Like an order he was giving himself.
The army commander studied Adel’s face for a moment.
He wanted to ask.
Why they were hurrying this much.
Why there was so little procedure.
But he did not ask.
He was someone who knew that the moment he asked, the “common sense” he was trying to uphold might collide with those above.
“Yes, sir.”
A short answer.
And then orders again.
The azure oxen lined up once more.
The cartwheels began rolling again.
The soldiers’ feet fell into step again.
The marching column poured back out onto the road.
The walls of Kaldren grew smaller and smaller, and the sky toward Arku drew nearer little by little.
As he walked, Adel told himself,
The city is not important.
The target is not the city.
But each time those words ended,
a corner of his heart became dirtier.
Above that filth, the banners fluttered.
The priests’ prayers rode the wind.
The soldiers’ anger became footsteps.
And at the very front of it all,
Adel was driving forward those three days.
—
The council was quiet.
Not the calm that followed the commotion of day, but a silence with its mouth shut.
Several councilors were gathered on one side of the table.
Their voices were low, and their words were brief.
“When the Empire enters, it does not leave.”
The oldest councilor spoke.
His words sounded less like a warning than an old fact.
Another councilor clenched his teeth.
“The request for support has already—”
“That is the problem.”
The old man cut him off immediately.
“We did not request ‘support.’ We handed them the handle.”
Someone glanced toward the door.
It was the look of someone wondering if a military policeman might be outside.
A young councilor said in a low voice,
“Right now, even we… cannot raise our voices.”
“The city has seen blood, and its anger…”
“Anger changes.”
The old man said.
His fingertips slowly tapped the table.
“Right now, that anger is aimed at an unseen enemy.”
“But soon, that anger will look for a hand right before its eyes.”
Another councilor murmured,
“…Requisition.”
“Garrisoning.”
The old man took over.
“Checkpoints.”
As the three words fell, everyone pictured the same scene at once.
A hand that had entered under the name of support, tightening around the city’s throat.
The young councilor asked in a whisper,
“Until then… can we endure?”
Instead of answering, the old man turned his gaze out the window.
Outside, new posters were being put up.
Each time the paper fluttered in the wind, it felt as though the city tightened further.
The old man said very softly,
“It is not enduring… It is waiting.”
When those words ended, the conference room fell silent again.
Outside, someone spoke of rumors about the imperial army’s march.
That rumor was still a distant story, but everyone knew.
Distant stories—
always arrive sooner than expected.