It was early morning after the night of the raid.
The adjutant entered Adel’s tent.
His complexion was poor.
“Sir Paladin. A report from the supply unit…”
Seeing the adjutant’s expression, Adel frowned.
He took the report and read it in silence.
An enemy ambush.
Partial loss of supplies.
The search party required to return.
Adel’s jaw hardened, his teeth clenching once.
The adjutant added carefully.
“Ah… and…”
His words trailed off as he crumpled the cap in his hand.
The fingers holding the report kept rubbing at the edge of the paper.
Outside the tent came the sound of stakes being driven in and the soldiers’ brief laughter.
That ordinary sound made it all the more ominous.
Without lifting his head, Adel swallowed a breath.
The adjutant forced his mouth open.
“Sir Marcel… has been injured.”
Adel’s eyes snapped up.
“Injured?”
Avoiding his gaze, the adjutant continued.
“Yes… they say he lost… his arm…”
At that moment.
Adel slammed his palm down.
Bang—!
The table shattered where it stood.
The wood split and buckled at the center, sending fragments flying in every direction.
The objects atop it tumbled down with it, scraping across the tent floor.
The smell of broken wood filled the tent.
One splinter struck the toe of the adjutant’s boot and spun in place,
and the adjutant froze, unable even to move it aside.
Adel slowly brushed the dust from the back of his hand.
His fingertips were trembling.
Whether from rage,
or from the fact that one more report of something “lost” had piled up, he could not tell.
A beat late, he drew in a breath.
The deeper his breathing became, the lower his voice sank.
And the lower voice sounded all the more dangerous.
“The soldiers?”
The adjutant answered in haste.
“Several with light and moderate wounds. No fatal injuries.”
“They say the enemy… targeted only the supplies with utter precision. Then immediately fled…”
Adel let out a long breath and sat down.
Then he pressed a hand to his forehead.
“Bring me the commander.”
“Yes… yes, sir!”
The adjutant all but ran out of the tent.
—
Soon after, the commander entered the tent.
“Sir Paladin.”
Adel glanced once at the remains of the shattered table, then asked at once.
“The renewed supply request to Kaldren.”
The commander briefly steadied his breath.
A troubled look remained on his face.
“…It was rejected. They say suppressing the rebellion is urgent, so they cannot grant the request.”
“Their position is that we should procure supplies from Arcu instead.”
Adel lowered his head without a word.
A brief silence settled inside the tent.
“…How much supply remains?”
The commander answered.
“As of now, two days.”
“If we ration it, we can hold out for four.”
Adel said lowly,
“The supply unit attached to the search party was ambushed.”
“And they have requested to return.”
The commander’s expression darkened further.
“Yes…”
“If the search party returns, then roughly three days.”
“…Any longer than that, and maintaining the encampment will become unstable.”
Adel spoke curtly.
“I leave the supplies to you.”
The commander swallowed.
“Yes, sir.”
Adel raised his gaze and went on.
“As for the Silver Moon Unit… I will form a detached force.”
The commander asked cautiously,
“A detached force, sir…”
Adel cut him off.
“Two knights. One priest. Ten elite soldiers.”
And then he drove in the final point.
“I will command it myself. Make preparations. I will speak to the knights personally.”
The commander did not ask any more.
“…Understood.”
Adel rose and walked out of the tent.
The remnants of the broken table gave a small sound beneath his feet.
—
At the same time,
inside the abandoned house that served as the search party’s camp.
Marcel sat on a cot with his breastplate removed.
An exhausted priest was changing his bandages.
His left arm had been severed below the elbow.
The heat and pain seeping beneath the bandages remained plainly on his face.
As if pressing down his complexion, Marcel opened his mouth.
“Sir Cedric.”
“That white-haired Haraya… have you faced him yourself?”
Cedric answered in a low voice.
“Yes, Sir Marcel.”
He chose his words for a moment before continuing.
“You must have heard of them. The White Wolf, the White Weasel.”
“They are known to be at a level capable of contending with knights.”
And Cedric’s gaze,
for an instant, lowered to where Marcel’s missing arm should have been, then returned.
“…There are also rumors that they have killed knights.”
“Though nothing is certain.”
Marcel ground his teeth with a harsh scrape.
Soundless fury caught in his jaw.
As if confirming something more important, Cedric asked,
“Did you see his eyes change?”
Marcel narrowed his eyes.
Cedric continued.
“That is not a sign of Mirkin.”
“It is a mark of one steeped in magic—no, in sorcery.”
“They are people as dangerous as Mirkin.”
Before he could finish, Marcel flared up.
“Mirkin is a blessing from God!”
“Do not put it on the same level as that demonic power!”
The priest’s hands, which had been wrapping the bandage, paused for a moment.
Then he spoke low and firm.
“Sir Marcel. Steady your breathing.”
“The blood is rising again.”
Cedric quietly bowed his head.
No more words followed.
—
A short while later.
Cedric came out of the abandoned house.
Only one cart had arrived.
A single blue ox limped, breathing out long and hard.
Where sacks of supplies should have been piled, empty space took up more room.
Even the sacks that remained were hardly intact.
Caked in dirt and soaked through, the grain clumped and fell apart even when picked up by hand.
The work of separating what could be eaten from what had to be thrown away—
already felt like “defeat.”
Cedric looked at the scene only once before turning his gaze away.
The longer they remained here, the worse the situation would become.
“We have sent a messenger to the Paladin.”
The adjutant spoke in a low voice.
Cedric nodded.
It was already decided.
“Once the order comes, we return to the main force.”
The words were brief, but bitterness was mixed within them.
The search that should originally have pressed deeper into the forest—
had now become a matter of “holding out.”
The soldiers looked at the cart and whispered quietly.
“It really… got cut off.”
“If there’s nothing to eat, it’s over.”
Cedric pretended not to hear them.
Only his fingers, unconsciously, pressed against the end of his scabbard.
The forest was still not far away.
But now, before the forest, the supplies were blocking their path.
—
The meeting room in the council annex was heavy despite the daylight.
Even with the windows open, the noise outside did not come in.
Instead, the room was filled with paper, ink, and the breathing of people.
The councilors sat around a round table.
At the center of the table lay a document that had just arrived.
A request for cooperation in providing materials to the imperial army.
It was an official letter sent from the encampment stationed before the city gate.
The first councilor tapped the document with his finger and said,
“We were the ones who requested the search for the Silver Moon Unit.”
“Then cooperation is only natural. If we step back now, it will look as if we are the first to change our words.”
Directly opposite him, another councilor lowered his voice.
“The word ‘natural’ is the most dangerous one.”
“How long has it been since they took up station here, that they are demanding supplies so quickly? And besides—”
He glanced once toward the window and added,
“We clearly saw them bring sufficient supplies. Where did all those supplies go?”
“Could they have hidden troops somewhere else and be using them separately?”
As soon as he finished speaking, the meeting room grew noisy.
Their words overlapped one another.
“That is nothing but conjecture.”
“Even if it is conjecture, it must be verified!”
“The empire always—”
One councilor raised his hand and cut off the talk.
He had the most pragmatic face in the room.
“Unconditional support is impossible.”
“Our warehouses are not infinite, and the citizens will soon feel it.”
“Even if we provide support, we must receive compensation.”
Someone shook his head even at that.
“Do you think we can receive compensation?”
“The ones stationed before our city gate are imperial troops.”
“The moment we propose a transaction, it may come back as a threat.”
And at last,
a blunt voice emerged.
“Are they truly pursuing the Silver Moon Unit at all?”
The meeting room fell quiet for a moment.
“They came in such numbers.”
“Why are there no results, only more demands?”
“Whether they truly have some other intention… we must now begin to ask.”
Those words fell to the floor.
No one could easily deny them.
The chairman tapped the table once with his fingertips.
“Let us settle this.”
The chairman’s voice was low but firm.
“For now, we will provide only the minimum requested amount.”
“And if the next request comes in, we will discuss it again then.”
“Until then, we will leave the conditions and scope in writing.”
Some nodded with dissatisfaction, others with relief.
It was not a conclusion, but a postponement.
Yet for now, postponement was all they could do.
As the chairman folded and sealed the document, he said,
“And one more thing.”
“If the empire’s request is for ‘supplies,’ then there is something we must know first.”
The chairman slowly turned his gaze around the room.
“What they lost.”
When the meeting ended and the door opened, the sound from outside surged in from the end of the corridor.
Before the city gate—
it was the sound of the imperial flag snapping in the wind.
And between those sounds, a certain premonition quietly seeped in.
The next request
would be larger.