The four of them were running in the same direction.
Fallen leaves tore beneath their feet, and their breaths broke off in dry sounds inside their mouths.
Even as Bido felt Jincheong’s arm keep drooping, he matched his pace.
Beside him, Muryeong said nothing.
He only gripped the hand holding his axe tightly and kept pace so he would not fall behind.
Miryeong, who had been leading the way, glanced back once.
To see whether the darkness of the forest was following them, whether some other scent had clung to the wind.
Then she said briefly,
“Let’s walk for a bit around here.”
All four slowed at the same time.
When his running body abruptly shifted to a walk, Bido’s legs wobbled once.
His heart caught up late, hammering against his chest.
Bido gasped for breath and swallowed the heat in his throat.
The sensation of having “locked” Kyle’s Idlin had long since vanished.
As the grain he had forcibly held on to came undone,
the heat that had been climbing beneath his eyes had subsided as well,
and he could no longer feel the traces like red scales.
Without slowing her steps, Miryeong turned her head to the side.
“But what was that, Bido?”
Her voice was low.
Her tone was cold, but its edges were a little rough.
“Did you fight the knight?”
For a moment, Bido was late to answer.
His breath caught first. In that gap, Jincheong spoke before him.
“…Thanks to Bido, I was able to hold him off.”
Miryeong’s feet stopped.
More precisely, what stopped was not her feet, but her expression.
“Thanks?”
At that one word, the air turned cold.
“That wasn’t the plan.”
Miryeong’s voice did not grow louder.
If anything, it sank lower.
And because it was low, it sounded all the more frightening.
“Jincheong. Weren’t you supposed to take the knight while Bido went on ahead?”
“We split up to buy time. Not to subdue him.”
Jincheong lowered his head.
“…You’re right. It was my inadequacy.”
Bido drew in a deep breath.
If he was any later, everything would be left as Jincheong’s fault.
“Sir Jincheong was… in a difficult situation.”
Bido spoke.
His voice still trembled beneath his breath.
“His hands were shaking. He couldn’t properly grasp the earth, and if he’d been told to stay behind alone and stall for time…”
“…That’s why I said we should fight together.”
Miryeong’s gaze pinned Bido in place.
Straight on, without room to flee.
“Don’t misunderstand, Bido.”
Miryeong spoke like a commander.
Emotion was mixed in, but she pressed that emotion down and turned it into words.
“If you make decisions on your own,”
“from that moment on, everyone else has to follow that decision.”
“Do you know who dies when that decision is wrong?”
Bido’s fingers clenched the strap of his sword.
The night of the full moon came to mind.
The light had been strong, his judgment had wavered,
and one mistake had led to the end with terrifying speed—
he had certainly learned it then.
Miryeong drove in one more sentence.
“Did you forget what happened under the full moon?”
Bido bit his lip.
For an instant he shrank back, then swallowed a deeper breath.
“…I’m sorry.”
The words were sincere.
But Bido did not stop there.
“Even so… you said it yourself, Lady Miryeong.”
“You told me not to hesitate next time, either.”
Miryeong’s eyebrows moved ever so slightly.
For a moment, the words cut off, and only the sounds of the forest remained.
He heard Muryeong let out a very small breath beside him.
Miryeong released a long sigh.
“Phew….”
Then she turned her head and looked at Jincheong first.
Then Bido.
And finally Muryeong.
“Fine. It’s my fault.”
The words came unexpectedly quickly.
She did not push responsibility onto anyone else.
“I made the plan, and I failed to calculate that you’d have no choice but to move like this.”
“Enough. Right now… the fact that everyone is alive matters more.”
Miryeong looked at Bido again.
This time, her gaze was a little less sharp.
Instead, it was tinged with fatigue.
“I’ll admit it.”
At those words, Bido’s heart beat once more.
“You proved yourself.”
Miryeong added without stopping.
“But always remember this. There won’t always be good results.”
“Today, luck was simply on our side. It could have ended in the worst possible way.”
The moment he had locked Kyle’s Idlin came back to Bido, and the back of his neck went cold.
The sensation of the sword howling.
The dullness, as if submerged underwater.
His fingertips forcibly holding the alignment in place.
“…Yes.”
Bido said quietly.
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
And then, lower,
“…I’ll become stronger.”
Miryeong nodded once at those words.
It was firm acknowledgment.
“Good.”
She looked forward again and said,
“Then let’s go. To that cave.”
“I’ll lead the way this time, so follow me. Don’t leave any traces.”
The four of them picked up their pace again.
Their breaths were still ragged, but their direction had been set.
“Muryeong. By the way, that paladin… did you kill him?”
Miryeong asked calmly.
Neither her walking speed nor the length of her breaths changed.
As if it were merely a matter of confirmation.
Muryeong immediately shook his head.
“No.”
“I couldn’t drive it in that deep.”
The hand holding his axe twitched once.
As if the collision from earlier still lingered somewhere in his wrist.
“Still, it won’t end as a light injury.”
Miryeong let out a short breath.
“…What a stubborn ill fate.”
She looked ahead for a moment, then turned her gaze to the side.
To Bido.
“Bido.”
When Bido lifted his head, the corner of Miryeong’s mouth rose very slightly.
“How does it feel to have gained a fan?”
Bido’s breath stopped for an instant.
“…What?”
Miryeong continued, not dropping the joke in the slightest.
“He’ll probably chase you until the day he dies.”
“That face said it all. ‘Next time, I’ll never let you get away.’”
Bido was left speechless.
His expression froze, unable to decide whether he should laugh or be afraid.
Seeing that expression, Miryeong spoke as if declaring it.
“It’s all right.”
The words were light,
but strangely, he could believe them.
“Just as we have until now, we’ll help you.”
Miryeong came closer and wrapped an arm around Bido’s shoulders.
She mixed in a playful smack against the nape of his neck.
“And you’ve gotten pretty strong now, haven’t you?”
“In body and in mind.”
Still dazed, Bido only nodded.
The fear remaining deep in his chest felt as though it had faded, just a little.
Miryeong let go of Bido and took the lead again.
“Now. Let’s hurry.”
She said, cutting through the forest.
“We’ll be able to rest soon, so let’s hang in there just a little longer.”
The four of them quickened their steps once more.
Their breaths were still ragged, but this time—
they were not the breaths of running away, but the breaths of overcoming.
—
“Sir Adel!”
Cedric rushed toward Adel, who was frozen on one knee.
Beneath the red armor,
a small puddle of mingled dirt and blood was spreading.
When Cedric grabbed Adel by the shoulder,
the armor gave a clatter.
There was breath.
It was just too shallow, and too slow.
Then footsteps gathered behind him.
Ten elite soldiers.
A formation that had not scattered.
Two were supporting Kyle.
The rest spread out in a semicircle and surrounded the area.
Some surveyed the surroundings, while others fixed the tips of their spears toward the forest.
Their movements to protect their fallen commander were all too practiced.
Kyle had one hand pressed over his armor as he clenched his teeth.
His face was pale, and each time he swallowed a breath, his shoulders trembled faintly.
Beside him was a priest.
The red priestly robes were soiled with dirt and ash, and fatigue clung heavily around his eyes.
Cedric turned his head toward Kyle and said,
“…It’s all right. He’s breathing. It seems he’s lost consciousness.”
Kyle ground his teeth.
“Urgh… Such humiliation….”
Cedric immediately shot a look at the priest.
“Priest. Sir Adel.”
The priest gave a short nod.
Two elite soldiers immediately knelt and supported Adel’s body.
With gloved hands, the priest carefully undid the hinges and buckles of the armor.
Cedric brought his hand close to Adel’s face.
He checked whether breath touched it, then examined beneath his jaw.
“There is definitely… a pulse.”
The priest said in a low voice,
“His side….”
The priest pushed the removed red armor aside and checked the exposed flank.
A long tear ran through the flesh. Blood flowed slowly, yet without ceasing.
“Press it down.”
At the priest’s brief command, one elite soldier immediately pressed hard over the wound with a gloved hand.
The priest opened the leather pouch at his waist and took out clean cloth and medicinal herb powder.
When he sprinkled the powder thinly, a sharp, stinging scent spread, and the spreading blood slowed a little.
He immediately took out bandages and began wrapping them.
Once, twice.
Tightly.
It was not the movement of “covering” the wound, but of “binding” it in place so no more blood could seep out.
The priest checked Adel’s face once, then tightened the bandages again.
“The bleeding has stopped. He must not be moved for now.”
Kyle tried to take a step forward, but the elite soldier supporting him immediately blocked him.
“Sir Kyle. If you push yourself—”
Kyle parted his lips as if choosing words to refute him.
But in the end, he could say nothing.
The forest was quiet.
So quiet that it felt even more ominous.
Cedric gritted his teeth and ordered the elite soldiers,
“Make a stretcher.”
The elite soldiers moved at once.
Spear shafts, cloaks, and leather straps passed from hand to hand.
Soundlessly, without hesitation.
Cedric looked beyond the forest one last time.
They had lost them.
And what was even more terrible was—
the fact that what they had lost was not merely a target.
Kyle spoke in a low voice.
It was almost a murmur.
“…That black-haired girl.”
Cedric lowered his head.
“Pursuit is impossible as we are.”
Those words were not an excuse, but a judgment.
Cedric gritted his teeth and continued,
“We return to the main force first. We will make our report… and reorganize.”
Kyle’s jaw trembled.
Whether from rage, pain, or both, no one could tell.
The elite soldiers lifted the stretcher.
Adel’s red armor swayed, and beneath it, a drop of blood fell.
Seeing that blood, Kyle swallowed a word.
“Next time….”
The end of the sentence did not follow.
Maintaining their formation, they quickly made their way out of the forest.
What remained behind were trampled fallen leaves,
and certainty that had collapsed.