In the forest, a short distance from the cave.
Beneath a tree where sunlight shattered and fell,
Cedric spat out a ragged breath and cursed.
Sweat had cooled and stuck in the gaps of his armor, scraping his skin every time he moved.
He turned his head and glared at the priest.
“Priest.”
“Is the amplification not ready yet?”
The priest was being supported by two soldiers.
His face was bloodlessly pale, and his lips were cracked.
His eyelids could barely lift over his eyes.
Each time he inhaled, his shoulders heaved violently.
“Sir Knight….”
The priest barely managed to speak.
“Right now… it is impossible.”
Before he could even finish, his body swayed once.
“I have already… twice in succession….”
“Urgh….”
The soldiers hurriedly supported his arms more firmly.
The priest’s body had grown so light that the hands holding him up trembled.
Cedric clicked his tongue.
“Tch.”
The forest was quiet.
So quiet
that the traces of the pursuit from moments ago felt like lies.
‘I almost had them.’
Cedric chewed on the thought and swallowed it.
That black hair,
and that white weasel.
The humiliating sensation of collapsing in terror.
It still lingered at his fingertips.
Beside him, another knight spoke in a low voice.
“Sir Cedric.”
“We should return for now. With these forces, any further search is impossible.”
Cedric was about to argue, but stopped.
When he looked at the soldiers, he understood why.
They were far too exhausted to be called elites.
Their eyes were hollow, and their throats were dry.
The hands holding their spears drooped little by little, and their feet barely lifted from the ground.
Without proper meals or sleep—
they had been keeping up with a forced march at the pace of knights.
One soldier, catching his breath, even rested his forehead briefly on a comrade’s shoulder.
Someone secretly licked his palm.
They were short on water.
Cedric found the sight unpleasant.
‘Weaklings.’
But apart from that displeasure,
he also sensed that the way they looked at him had changed.
Suspicion they could not hide.
Distrust that did not show itself openly.
‘Knights that strong,’
‘even using the priest’s Mirkin,’
‘can’t catch a mere resistance group?’
That thought was growing larger and larger among the soldiers.
Cedric clenched his teeth.
“We return.”
The words came out in a way that made it unclear
whether they were an order
or an admission.
One of the knights nodded and gestured to the soldiers.
“Maintain formation.”
“Keep the priest in the center, and the wounded at the rear.”
The soldiers moved slowly, but their motions were practiced.
At least they still lived up to the name of “elite.”
Cedric glared once more toward the forest in the direction of the cave they had passed through.
Somewhere in the woods, there was the feeling of a very faint current of wind.
A presence that seemed within reach, only to disappear.
He clenched his fist.
‘Next time.’
But to create that “next time,” he first had to return to the main force.
He had to report, receive supplies, and above all, persuade the city.
And that persuasion—
would take place not on the battlefield, but at the council table.
Cedric found that fact even more humiliating.
The priest barely walked, leaning on the soldiers’ arms.
Behind them, only weary footprints stretched long across the ground.
—
The council chamber was filled with low murmurs.
At the end of the long table, in the audience seat, sat the commander of the Empire.
His back was straight, but the muscles in his jaw trembled faintly.
He could not hide his discomfort.
The councilors’ expressions were much the same.
Some were cold, while others showed their dissatisfaction openly.
Even the sound of paper being turned seemed sharp.
The chairman raised his palm and called for silence.
“Commander.”
The chairman lifted a document.
His tone was polite, but his question went straight to the point.
“Was the person in overall charge of the reinforcements… not the Holy Knight?”
“This question is not a matter of protocol.”
The chairman lifted another document.
“The request for support clearly states ‘temporary assistance’ and ‘the preservation of Arku’s command authority.’”
“And the person who responded to those conditions was the Holy Knight.”
“Therefore, what we are confirming now is not ‘honor,’ but ‘responsibility.’”
The commander’s gaze hardened for an instant.
It was true.
And that made it all the more unpleasant.
“Regardless of who bears overall responsibility,”
the commander said, pressing down on each word,
“the authority over logistics and troop command lies with me.”
Here and there throughout the council chamber, low breaths like laughter leaked out.
‘He’s dodging the question.’
Everyone took it that way.
Without changing his expression, the chairman looked down at the document.
“Very well.”
“Then I will ask the one with command authority.”
The chairman read slowly.
“It has been… five days since the Imperial reinforcements set up camp before the walls of Arku.”
The sound of the document being placed on the table was distinct.
“So, what exactly is the Empire proceeding with right now?”
“After requesting our cooperation and support, does it make sense for there to be no communication whatsoever?”
The commander ground his teeth.
There was only one answer.
To push through under the name of secrecy.
“The mission is classified.”
“The search is… being carried out properly.”
It was a lie.
That lie made the air even harsher.
A councilor seated nearby leaned forward.
“What does ‘properly’ mean?”
“Why, exactly, do you keep requesting supplies like this?”
The commander immediately retorted.
“This mission is something Arku first requested support for.”
“Is it not only natural to request support as necessary?”
Another councilor raised his voice.
“Natural?”
“You keep taking supplies without any results—”
“You station troops in front of our walls—”
He tapped the floor with his finger.
“Is the search truly your objective?”
“Or… do you have some other intention?”
“Some other intention? You have already made demands, have you not?”
Another councilor struck the table once.
“You asked the Sun God Church branch not for ‘cooperation with inspections,’ but for the right to accompany house searches.”
“You asked that the branch be allowed into the military police reporting system.”
“Is that a search, or are you trying to bring another blade into the city?”
The atmosphere in the council chamber flared up at once.
Several councilors tried to speak at the same time,
and the commander’s face reddened as well.
At that moment, the chairman raised his hand and cut them off sharply.
“Silence.”
It was only one word, but the room stopped for a moment.
The chairman looked directly at the commander.
“Commander. Everyone is on edge at present.”
“We cannot continue providing unconditional support either.”
He lifted the document again.
“We have the right to confirm whether this search mission is truly proceeding ‘properly.’”
“That is why we are requesting an audience with the Holy Knight.”
The commander’s jaw stiffened.
He could not say, “He is not here.”
Nor could he say, “He is injured.”
The chairman did not miss that silence.
“Until then, there will be no further support in supplies.”
The air in the council chamber turned cold.
Those words were not a negotiation, but a notification.
The commander’s expression hardened.
He took a moment to steady his breathing, then looked around the council chamber.
His gaze seemed to be memorizing every single face.
“Very well.”
The commander spoke in a low voice.
His tone was polite, but the politeness did not last to the end.
“Then I, too, shall confirm something.”
He looked straight at the chairman.
“What does Arku consider the Empire to be right now?”
“To promise cooperation, then demand results and cut off supplies—”
“Do you think the Empire will simply let such treatment pass?”
The murmuring from the council seats grew louder.
The commander deliberately waited for the sound,
then continued in a firmer voice.
“The Empire’s forces are currently before your walls.”
The commander knew it as well.
The moment he uttered the word “requisition” in this place, negotiations would be over.
The city would turn its back, and all that would remain was the distance between the walls and the enemy.
So he chose not to draw the sword, but only to reveal the hilt.
He tapped the table once, lightly, with his finger.
“We did not come here to beg.”
“If the necessary supplies continue to be cut off… that will be considered not ‘support,’ but ‘obstruction.’”
As the chairman’s face began to harden, the commander drove in the final nail.
“And battlefields that are obstructed always survive in the Empire’s way.”
“Whether Arku wishes it or not.”
A brief silence settled over the room.
The commander slowly rose from his chair.
“I will arrange the audience with the Holy Knight.”
“But until then, be prepared for the consequences of the council’s choice.”
Just as the commander was about to leave, the chairman raised his palm and stopped him.
“Commander.”
His voice was low and composed.
It was the tone of someone forcing the previous heat down and turning it into something “official.”
“Your statement just now… will be recorded.”
The commander’s gaze did not waver.
Looking straight into those unwavering eyes, the chairman continued.
“And Arku has never ‘obstructed’ you.”
“We have already provided the minimum support,”
“and even now— we are maintaining the principle of cooperation.”
When someone in the council seats tried to add something,
the chairman cut them off once more.
“Silence.”
He lifted a single sheet of paper.
It was a document he had prepared in advance.
“However.”
“The city’s supplies belong to its citizens.”
The chairman placed the document on the table and spoke clearly.
“Therefore, support will only be possible under conditions.”
The moment the commander furrowed his brow,
the chairman read the conditions one by one, as if “organizing” them.
“First.”
“Additional support in supplies will be decided after the audience with the Holy Knight.”
“Second.”
“The Imperial army shall not approach beyond the designated distance from Arku’s walls.”
“Our guards have the right to verify that line.”
The council seats grew quiet.
People reacted to the word “distance.”
A distance meant—
a control line.
“Third.”
“If the Empire forces procurement within Arku,”
“that will be considered requisition and plunder.”
The chairman looked at the commander.
“The consequences… will not be borne by Arku.”
“They will be borne by the Empire.”
The commander’s brow narrowed.
The chairman took one further step here.
It was a realistic bargaining card.
“We do not wish for confrontation.”
“So let me offer you a proposal.”
“Arrange the audience with the Holy Knight as quickly as possible.”
“At that meeting, disclose at least the minimum scope of what this search is.”
“Otherwise, Arku can no longer tell its citizens to ‘cooperate.’”
From the back of the council seats, someone muttered quietly.
“The rumors of requisition… have already spread.”
The chairman did not let those words pass, but turned them back to the commander.
“Commander. You must know this as well.”
“Rumors are faster than blades.”
“After today, whatever the Imperial army does…”
“the citizens of Arku will see it as ‘requisition.’”
The chairman marked the conclusion with finality.
“So choose.”
“Will you restore trust through an audience?”
“Or.”
“Will you turn the entire city into your enemy?”
A brief silence.
The council chamber turned cold once more.
Now it was not the temperature of emotion, but of calculation.
After the commander left,
the chairman spoke quietly.
“Let us organize this. Today’s statements will remain on record.”
One councilor ground his teeth.
“The rumors of requisition… will grow even larger tonight.”
The chairman nodded.
“That is why we will reinforce the guards.”
“Around the walls, the warehouses, and the markets. The places that must be protected first.”
He spoke his final words as if driving in a nail.
“Starting today, people will begin to see the ‘Imperial army’ as a greater problem… than the ‘bomber.’”