Night and dawn withdrew from the forest, and morning seeped in.
Last night had sickened both the forest and the people within it.
Broken branches lay scattered at ankle height,
and extinguished torches and abandoned equipment were half-submerged in muddy water.
Among them,
soldiers with bloodshot eyes wandered, staggering.
Some still muttered that they had to “find them,”
while others lay facedown in the moss, unmoving.
The remnants of the night remained everywhere.
A demon beast’s corpse sprawled to one side,
and a strip of human clothing torn by its claws had hardened with blood.
A short distance away—
an arrow was embedded beside a corpse wearing the same uniform and armor.
No one said a word, but everyone understood.
In the darkness, they had not seen enemies; they had made enemies of one another.
Amid it all, the commander could be seen walking with difficulty.
His bandaged arm hung limp,
and his face was pale, as if it had dried out overnight.
A medic was supporting him by the shoulder.
The commander barely caught his breath in front of Cedric.
“Sir Cedric… withdraw.”
His voice was hoarse, but firm.
“At this rate… we’ll be annihilated without finding anything.”
Cedric clenched his teeth.
There was nothing he could say to deny it.
For a moment, he turned his head and looked over the soldiers scattered throughout the forest.
Even those still standing had empty eyes.
“…We regroup.”
Cedric spoke in a low voice.
“Gather anyone who can stand. Right now.”
A horn sounded.
At the sound, some soldiers instinctively raised their heads.
Some pushed themselves up by leaning on the tips of their spears,
and others began walking while dragging their comrades by the arm.
The forest fell quiet again.
And because it was quiet, it was all the more terrible.
—
“The horn… you heard it, right?”
Miryeong said, almost with only her breath.
Only then did everyone, who had endured the entire night without easing their tension,
let out a long breath.
Bido also released a faint breath and nodded.
“Yes…”
In Bido’s hand, Deraul’s stone slowly grew lukewarm.
A temperature neither hot nor cold.
It was the sensation of space quietly unraveling.
And then, inside his head, a clear resonance brushed past.
“The people… are leaving…”
Miryeong’s gaze fixed on Bido.
“Let’s get out.”
Beside them, the whispers of the Derauls overlapped.
Their voices were a little calmer now that the fear that had seethed all night had subsided.
“Goodbye…”
“We were scared together…”
“Don’t get hurt…”
The group nodded.
Bido spoke carefully.
“Thank you.”
The cold sensation still holding on slowly slipped away from his fingertips.
It was the young Deraul.
One last time, very softly.
“Be careful… mixed one…”
Bido stiffened for a moment at the word,
then forced himself to smile.
The moment they slipped out through the gap,
Miryeong raised a hand and stopped abruptly.
Inside the cave—
several soldiers were lying there, snoring as if nothing were wrong.
Their armor and spears were still with them.
It seemed they had hidden their utterly exhausted bodies in the cave and simply passed out.
The group held their breath and passed by them.
Their faces looked as though they would not wake even if someone screamed right now.
Jincheong moved almost only his lips.
“…What do we do?”
Miryeong scanned outside the cave with her eyes.
“There’s almost no movement. Even what’s left… seems to be heading back.”
After a beat, she said,
“Let’s move for now. We need to rest somewhere too.”
At the cave entrance,
Miryeong left a very small mark in an inconspicuous place.
“Let’s go.”
—
It was noon.
The gates of Arku were firmly barred.
Newly wound chains gleamed in the sunlight,
and in the wide open space inside the gate, the military police had temporarily set up a defensive line.
On top of the walls, the guards stood in rows.
Spears and crossbows were ready,
but no one could bring themselves to aim first.
From within the city,
only the hushed murmur of the citizens gathered beyond the gate spread faintly.
During the night, the branch of the Sun God Church within the city had been sealed off.
It had been done under the pretext of “protection,” but in truth, it was closer to confinement.
Imperial personnel were staying inside,
and military police had been stationed at every door.
As if the council could retreat no further,
it had tightened its grip around the entire city at once.
And in front of the gate stood Adel.
Among the soldiers who had turned the forest upside down all night before returning, few could stand properly.
Their eyes were bloodshot, and their armor was soaked in mud.
Some staggered with bandages wrapped around them,
and others seemed to find even walking burdensome.
Even so, Adel did not look at them.
His gaze pierced only the gate, and what lay beyond it.
‘In the end, I’m the only one who can resolve this.’
Whether that thought was arrogance or madness, even Adel himself could no longer tell.
“Open the gate.”
Adel spoke.
His voice was low, yet hard enough to tear through the air before the gate.
“I told you. Bring out the supplies by noon.”
From atop the wall, someone shouted in a trembling voice.
“Paladin! The Republic Council’s resolution—”
But before he could continue,
another guard grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
It was an unspoken warning to watch his words.
Adel looked up at the wall.
Wherever his gaze passed, people’s throats stiffened first.
One guard on the wall instinctively leaned his body forward a little.
It was a tiny movement, meant to get a clearer look at the paladin in front of the gate.
At that moment,
Adel’s eyes were dyed red.
No one saw exactly what happened.
Only,
Adel seemed not to have taken even a single step—
yet in the next instant, a shadow brushed beneath the wall,
and the guard’s body was dragged over the railing.
He could not even scream properly.
His two legs flailed in the air before slamming into the ground,
and a dull impact spread through the open space before the gate.
The guard writhed briefly.
It was impossible to tell whether he was even breathing.
The top of the wall froze.
The man who appeared to be the captain of the guard clenched his teeth and shouted.
“Do not shoot!”
Without an order, their fingers seemed ready to move,
and even with an order, their fingers trembled.
Even the knights and priests standing behind Adel swallowed short breaths.
Someone opened their lips as if to call, “Sir Adel…” but swallowed it in the end.
Merely speaking to Adel now looked dangerous.
Adel did not even look at the fallen guard.
As if that had been “part of the conversation,”
as if nothing had happened at all, he only raised his head toward the wall.
“Didn’t I… even give you a pretext?”
The moment those words fell, the expressions of the guards on the wall changed.
It was not understanding, but a sinister premonition.
Adel continued through clenched teeth.
His words were fast, his breathing rough.
“The Silver Moon Corps. Those troublesome bastards.”
Then, as if persuading himself, he added,
“The explosion? Yes. It was necessary.”
His reddened eyes swept across the wall.
“You need a pretext before you can lay hands on them, don’t you?”
“So that we… so that you would understand what we are doing.”
For an instant, somewhere atop the wall, someone sucked in a breath.
Too many words had flowed out in far too precise a direction.
As if mistaking their reaction for “acceptance,” Adel shouted.
“So open the gate at once! I will end this here and now!”
Raymond and several councilors were also watching the scene from atop the wall.
The words that had burst from Adel’s mouth
sent a chill down Raymond’s spine.
Pretext.
Necessary.
Raymond narrowed his eyes slightly.
The paladin’s rampage, which until a moment ago had seemed like nothing but anger and fear,
suddenly revealed another face.
To dismiss it as “the threat of a madman,”
the direction of his words was too precise.
‘The explosion… may have been intentional.’
Raymond bit his lip.
Adel looked insane even at a glance.
In that case, what he had just said might also have been delusion or a tangled misconception.
But,
that did not mean it could simply be overlooked.
It had to be confirmed.
Yun.
Raymond turned his head toward the chairman and spoke in a low voice.
“Chairman. There is something I must go and confirm. Please continue the emergency meeting.”
The chairman, seeming to read something in Raymond’s face, gave a short nod.
Raymond descended from the wall.
Military police stood throughout the sealed streets,
but at the mark of a councilor and a brief command, the way opened.
Without even catching his breath, he ran across the alleys.
When he arrived in front of the inn where Yun was hiding,
the innkeeper recognized Raymond first and froze in surprise.
In this city, a councilor rushing in at such an hour
did not mean good news.
Raymond pressed down his breath and said,
“Hidden moonlight.”
The innkeeper’s eyes changed for the briefest instant.
Without a word, he nodded and cast his gaze toward the stairs.
“Second floor… second room.”
Raymond went to the room he had been told and knocked on the door in the rhythm Yun had given him.
Short, long, short—
then repeated at the same interval.
Movement stirred inside.
When the door opened, a man stood in the dark room with his face hidden beneath a hood.
He looked Raymond over once, then promptly closed the door.
From deeper inside the room, Yun appeared.
Without even catching his breath, Raymond spoke at once.
“Yun. I want to ask you about the explosion.”
Yun did not hurry to answer.
The air in the room moved a beat late.
She briefly looked over Raymond’s face,
then cast her gaze toward the window.
It was a habitual motion, as if checking whether sounds from outside could be heard.
“Why,”
Yun said quietly,
“are you asking that now?”
Raymond clenched his teeth.
“The paladin made a slip of the tongue in front of the gate. He called it a ‘pretext.’”
The end of his words was hard.
“He also said the explosion was necessary.”
Yun’s brows rose faintly, then lowered again.
It was less surprise than calculation.
Yun said,
“You aren’t thinking of confirming it based on that one remark, are you?”
“No.”
Raymond cut her off immediately.
“That’s why I came. I need confirmation.”
Yun exhaled briefly.
“Fine. Then let’s do it this way.”
She folded one finger.
“First. Was the explosion done in the ‘Silver Moon Corps’ style’?”
Raymond began to answer, then stopped.
Yun continued.
“No. You know that too.”
“But while you ‘knew,’ you couldn’t say it, and the Empire could ‘pretend not to know.’”
Yun folded another finger.
“Second. Who benefited from the explosion?”
Raymond’s gaze wavered.
Yun did not miss that wavering.
Yun drove her words in.
“The city fell into chaos, the council had to quickly name a culprit, and the Silver Moon Corps became the bombers.”
She lifted her head.
“Conversely, the Empire was advantaged.”
“They used the search as a pretext to bring troops right up to Arku’s walls.”
“They expanded their authority within the city. They pushed in under the excuse of the Sun God Church branch. They shook the military police.”
Raymond’s lips hardened.
Yun folded the last finger.
“Third. Was the ‘search’ the objective?”
Raymond said quietly,
“…The objective is the expansion of authority.”
Yun nodded.
“Yes.”
She answered briefly and crisply.
“The search was decoration, and the explosion was the handle meant to open the door.”
For a while, Raymond said nothing.
From outside the window, a sound like a distant horn seemed to drift faintly in.
He muttered through a tightly clenched jaw, as though he were hearing that sound.
“…Still, there’s no conclusive proof.”
“That’s why I told you.”
Yun answered at once.
“It’s not evidence. It’s circumstances.”
Raymon lifted his head.
“Then what do you have?”
Yun spoke very quietly.
“I’ll ask you, Raymon. Until now, you’ve only asked ‘who the culprit is.’”
She pressed down on each word.
“Now ask ‘who benefits.’”
Raymon’s face hardened.
The words he had heard atop the wall a moment ago surfaced again.
Justification. Necessity.
Open the gate.
Raymon let out a long breath.
“…Fine.”
Then he added in a low voice.
“Then, what’s next?”
Yun answered.
“Give up on trying to persuade them with ethics or honor.”
Raymon gritted his teeth.
“…Then.”
Yun cut him off.
“Evidence.”
She did not spare her words.
“For the council to move, they need something they can hold in their hands, not words.”
“Whether it’s a record, an object, or a single person.”
“Without that, all you’ll be doing is making a ‘claim,’ and the Empire will paint another layer of justification over that claim.”
Raymon nodded.
Yun checked the window once more, then turned back.
“We already prepared it.”
Her gaze fixed on him without wavering.
“We were only waiting for the right time.”
Raymon asked immediately.
“Then why until now—”
“If we had brought it out first,”
Yun cut him off.
“First, it would have been treated not as evidence, but as a ‘scheme.’”
She folded down one finger.
“Second, the line we have would have been cut.”
And last.
“Third, the city wasn’t ready yet. There was no room for it to accept it.”
Raymon’s eyes narrowed.
“…It’s different now?”
Yun slowly nodded.
“A crack has formed.”
She added briefly.
“The Holy Knight’s slip of the tongue. Justification. Necessity.”
The moment she uttered those words, Yun’s voice grew colder.
“Now the council has lost its justification for maintaining the ‘certainty.’”
Raymon exhaled.
“Then what you have is.”
Yun did not reveal it right away.
Instead, she showed only its form.
“Three threads.”
“One piece of physical evidence, one record, and one mouth.”
She raised her eyes and pinned Raymon with her gaze.
“One of them, the record, I already gave to you.”
“If it moves together with the other two, it will no longer be a ‘deferral,’ but a ‘shift.’”
Raymon set his jaw.
“When is that?”
“Starting now.”
Yun said.
“You go back. Tell the chairman.”
Raymon nodded.
“…Understood.”
Suddenly, another shout erupted outside.
It came from the direction of the noon gate.
Without even turning her head, Yun said,
“This is only the beginning.”