Late at night, moonlight settled thinly over the forest.
Bido and the others were huddled once more inside Deraul's space within the cave.
Miryeong swallowed hard and muttered.
“What the hell… is that.”
It was as if the entire forest had been turned upside down.
The shifting glow of torches spread between the leaves,
Footsteps and shouts overlapped.
The sounds would grow distant, then change direction and draw close again.
Beneath Bido’s palm,
The Deraul stone alternated between burning hot and turning lukewarm.
As if the very space was trembling.
“Find her! Search the entire forest if you have to!”
That cry seemed to pass through the wall, echoing faintly.
But there was something even more tormenting.
“Scared…”
“So many…”
“Please…”
Voices layered inside Bido’s head.
The whispers of the Derauls pricked at their temple like thin needles.
Bido clenched their teeth.
If they let their guard down, it felt like more would slip through the gap.
Then, a cold sensation touched their hand.
The young Deraul who had handed over the stone was gripping Bido’s hand tightly.
“Scared…”
A voice that faltered for a moment dropped low at the end.
“…The mixed one is scared, too.”
—
The soldiers were tearing through the forest with exhaustion overlaid by fear.
“Find her quickly!”
“Don’t return until you find her! It is the Paladin’s order!”
The main force had poured out into the forest wholesale.
There was no formation, no rotation, no command.
Torches scattered every which way, shouts drowning one another out.
No one could tell who was at the front or who was at the rear.
Only one thing remained.
Drag out the black-haired girl, bring the sword.
That was Adel’s order.
The commander had tried to stop him.
He had even said, “This is madness,” but in the end could not dissuade him.
And now,
The reason he could not be here was something the soldiers had seen as well.
Through the gap as they dashed into the forest, the medical tent was visible for a moment,
and a stretcher passed by, swaying.
It was the commander.
No one could say exactly what had happened.
But everyone shared the same sensation.
This order was somehow wrong.
Even the knights were the same.
There was no procedure, no honor, no plan.
The way they scraped through the forest recklessly.
Tonight, the obsession to find something—anything.
Even Marcel, who had lost an arm, was mixed into their ranks.
Urging his steps toward the forest with eyes that held only venom in place of the missing limb.
“Tonight… it ends.”
—
The lights at the entrance of the council building had not gone out either.
Though it was the middle of the night, the door was not locked.
The clerks sorting through the agenda items accumulated during the day,
and a few guards on rotating duty remained inside.
The smell of ink and the damp scent of paper
lay thinly in a corridor that felt somehow empty.
Adel pushed that door open.
“Paladin— please wait. At this hour—”
A guard stepped forward, then swallowed his words.
The moment he recognized who it was, his throat seized up first.
Adel did not pause for even a moment.
His eyes looked forward, yet they seemed to grope somewhere else entirely.
Black hair.
Holy relic.
Sword.
The words seemed to tear at and tangle with one another inside his head.
“Did you not call for me?”
Adel spoke in a low voice.
“Step aside. Where are the councilors?”
“The audience… is set for noon tomorrow— by council resolution—”
A guard tried to speak,
but the moment Adel heard the word “noon,” his expression grew even harder.
As if those words sounded like both permission and provocation.
“Noon?”
Adel’s mouth twisted.
“Yes. That is why I have come.”
He pushed aside the blocking arm as if brushing it away with the back of his hand.
The struck guard staggered.
Unable to find either reason or justification to draw his sword, he could only step back.
Waving “regulations” in front of a Paladin
was closer to suicide than to courage.
Adel crossed the corridor and walked toward the meeting room door.
With each step closer, the lamp at the end of the corridor shook minutely.
Though there was no wind, the flame trembled thinly.
And the door opened.
A few councilors remained inside the meeting room.
Agenda items passed during the day, phrasing for tomorrow’s noon audience,
documents related to the investigative subcommittee—
faces that had stayed late to organize such things.
They raised their heads simultaneously.
“Paladin… sir?”
Someone’s voice trembled.
“What in the world… brings you here?”
Adel stepped into the meeting room.
“Well, I am here.”
His voice was clear, but as clear as it was, it was dangerous.
“Where are the supplies?”
The councilors murmured.
The chairman was the first to gather his wits and rise.
“Paladin. What is the meaning of this rudeness—”
“Rudeness?”
Adel chewed on the word, repeating it.
And he continued with a face that could not even manage a smile.
“You ask what we are doing? Right now, all forces have been sent to the forest.”
Adel’s gaze tore through the empty air as if raking it.
“I will find them now. The black-haired girl… the holy relic… the sword… tonight is more than enough.”
“Holy relic…?”
The chairman opened his lips, bewildered.
“What do you mean, Paladin. The Council—”
“Now, produce the supplies.”
Adel cut him off.
As if it were a conversation already concluded.
“Is it insufficient?”
At that moment, someone in one corner of the meeting room spat out, unable to endure.
“This is overreach, Paladin.”
Another councilor added his voice after.
“Follow procedure. The Republic’s resolutions—”
“How can you be so reckless—”
Adel’s eyes slowly lifted.
And,
the air grew heavy first.
Though no one had pointed a blade, breath was choked.
People’s hearts beat wildly of their own accord.
The flames of the lanterns seemed to grow smaller,
and voices dropped to the floor in an instant.
One councilor fell to his knees as if sliding from his chair,
while another clutched the edge of his desk and trembled.
Adel was drawing upon Idrin.
“Procedure?”
Adel spoke lowly.
That low voice strangely pressed down upon the entire meeting room.
“Are you daring to ask an Imperial Paladin for procedure?”
The guards entered belatedly.
Swords and spears were half-drawn.
“Halt!”
“This is—”
But even they could not speak to the end.
Fear bound their tongues.
Adel looked down at them for a moment,
then exhaled as if to say he had seen enough.
“This is enough.”
Idrin’s pressure withdrew like a lie.
Only then did the suppressed breath burst forth in the meeting room.
Someone coughed, and someone retched with a hand to the floor.
Adel turned to leave.
The moment one guard blocking the way instinctively took a step—
Adel’s hand tapped the guard’s chest.
Just a *tap*.
The guard was pushed back until he struck the wall.
The impact echoed through the meeting room.
He fell to the floor, groaning and curling up.
Adel did not spare a glance at the sound.
Just before crossing the threshold, he spoke without turning back.
“You told me to come by noon tomorrow?”
“Fine. Then you send the supplies by noon.”
The door closed.
Only trembling remained in the abandoned meeting room.
Someone said in a very small voice,
“…This is blackmail.”
And for a while, no one could speak.
The lanterns were still lit, but the flames were smaller than before.
Even though the pressure that had crushed the air just moments ago had vanished,
the meeting room remained heavy.
Someone sat down on the floor, hands trembling,
while another clutched documents on the desk, trying to catch his breath.
The guard who had been knocked against the wall was finally raised up by two others supporting him.
His face was pale, his lips trembling.
The chairman swallowed dryly.
“…What in the world is going on.”
Someone replied in a hoarse voice.
“That someone like that… is the supreme commander of the army outside.”
Those words froze the meeting room once more.
The title of “Paladin” had felt like nothing but authority up until moments ago—
now it sounded like calamity.
“Is procedure… is procedure what matters now?”
One councilor spat out his words.
“In that state, he could march his troops to the city gates right now, not waiting until noon tomorrow. No, he could smash through the gates.”
Another councilor spoke in a voice laced with a sigh.
“Just who… did we extend our hand to.”
Fear changed to anxiety.
Anxiety changed to calculation.
And calculation soon coalesced into a conclusion.
“If we comply with that demand,” what does that make us?
Then Raymon quietly opened his mouth.
His voice was surprisingly low and clear.
“The moment we comply with that demand, our city… the Republic will fall under the Empire.”
No one could refute it.
The fear that had crushed the meeting room just moments ago
hardened into a different form the moment they heard those words.
It was not humiliation, but a matter of survival.
The chairman spoke, his fist clenched.
“We must bar the gates.”
Immediately, another councilor objected.
“There are still Imperial personnel inside the city.”
“Knights, priests, and their escorts— if we bar the gates, they will—”
“Does that matter now!”
Another councilor shouted, slamming his desk.
“If we cannot stop that army right now, what meaning is there in inside or outside the city!”
Voices overlapped.
Some said they had to deploy more guards,
someone said they should send another negotiation letter to buy time,
and someone said they should convene the investigative subcommittee tonight itself.
Frightened assertions burst forth, pushing against one another.
The chairman raised his palm, forcibly pressing down on the noise.
“Calm yourselves.”
His voice cracked, but the chairman carried on to the end.
“Now is not the time to blame one another.”
A moment of silence.
The chairman caught his breath and spoke, pressing each word precisely.
“We will proceed with an emergency session.”
With those words, the fear in the meeting room began to move in a completely different direction.
Not flight, but preparation.
Not anger, but resolve.
The chairman turned his head toward the clerk.
“Notify the subcommittee at once. And the Guard Captain as well.”
Then, looking around at the councilors, he added.
“Tonight, we must reach a conclusion here. By noon tomorrow… if we are not to collapse.”